And all came marching marching through my stereogram imprinted into that cracking old timer format… Vinyl! Unquenchable thrills! The music of psychedelia (and for some the maximum beginnings of heavy metal) truly only lurks in the sounds of the inbetween. Verily, when the barmy fuzzface post-everything of Residual Echoes first razed my teepee to the ground a coupla weeks ago, I was too busy hiding behind the sofa to notice that they wuz dragging behind their chariots the festering corpses of their rock’n’roll heroes in a splendid effort to keep we commentators on the scent. With the release of this major debut from San Fransisco’s Residual Echoes, welcome to the New Year, Motherfuckers! Moreover, there’s no sexism or racism within these grooves, no songs of scarred old slavers whipping the women, no rampant Priapus crowing over his sprawling and reluctant fellatresses, just good ole rock’n’roll for the trepanned men and women of this 21st century. Note 2: This review is dedicated to the late Trevor Manwaring, underground prime mover and champion of the English scene, and also to Brian Turner, self-styled schock jockey of WFMU, who turned these suckers loose on me in the first place.ĭoes this music of Residual Echoes sound like the ultimate inner soundtrack issuing forth from the collective unconscious of readers of this review? Yes, the maximum, the summum bonnum, the All Golden, perhaps for some the highest. So all ye Wise Ass Crackers with a neo-Black butt shakin’, you gits gots to be out there and lay some Ant-rap down, and you ain’t gonna be Devendra Banheart fer shit damn shure! C’mon boobies, I’m coming over the Atlantic to search you out come late March of this year, so clue me soontime. But when will we get America’s next Poet Dylan to rival textually such mossive instrumental deliveries as the below described? I mean, Guns’ errant and RAW POWER-ish "One in a Million" is still my fave of theirs, even if it do make Alexis de Tocqueville turn in his grave (and I suppose Axl’s erudite and earth-shaking "Don’t Damn Me" was an apologia of sorts). Even my Italian publishers say so, so it ain’t xenophobic me babe. Here at Poundland, however, Euros we don’t want any and neither – so it seems - do Europeans, because it’s costing them all a fortune. It does not store any personal data.Note: From my dugout, almost the only put-your-head-above-the-surface people nowadays seem to be modern Americans, their manifest destiny being to their credit and detriment also. The cookie is set by the GDPR Cookie Consent plugin and is used to store whether or not user has consented to the use of cookies.
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